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“I’ll go in and see him later,” Isaac says. “That okay?”
“Of course,” Anthony says. “Enjoy the party, Sophia.”
“Your nephew?” I ask Isaac as we’re walking away.
“Yes,” he says. The idea of him sneaking away from a party to see a baby makes me smile. I wish I could see it, how he would be in those moments. What his voice would sound like.
“Here we are…” he murmurs. “We’ll just say a quick hello.”
I’m introduced to two men and their wives. Tristan, Carter, Audrey, and Frederica, whom everyone calls Freddie. They’re seated around a low firepit with an assortment of drinks spread out in front of them.
“Isaac,” one of the men says. He’s got a distinguished look, not unlike Isaac’s, but the smile he gives us is open and friendly. Tristan, I think. “It’s good to see you again. You’re remembering to do other things than just work?”
His wife bumps his shoulder with hers. “I don’t think you’re the best person to lecture anyone else about workaholism,” she tells him.
Tristan laughs. “Maybe not.”
“I know for a fact that none of you are,” Isaac says. “Case and point, Audrey, I saw your latest piece for theGlobe.It was excellent.”
The woman with beautiful curly hair lights up. “Thank you! It was a lot of fun to write.”
“You’re a journalist?” I ask.
Isaac and I have a seat with the group, and the conversation spins on, genuinely interesting. Audrey’s job is fascinating, and it doesn’t take long until I learn that Tristan was Exciteur’s CEO before St. Clair, before I worked there.
The conversation comes to an abrupt halt when a party photographer stops by our table, camera in his right hand. The others rise, familiar with the practice. Isaac’s arm lands around my waist.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
“For what?” I whisper back.
He’s looking straight ahead, at the camera. “For being here.”
Right. For ensuring his family stops nagging him about dating. Driven by adrenaline and champagne, and maybe something less, something I’m not brave enough to put a name on yet, I press my lips briefly against his cheek.
The photographer’s camera makes a few audible snaps. “Excellent,” he says before wandering off in search of new victims. “Thank you.”
The reality of what I’ve just done hits me. “I’m sorry, Isaac. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, that was crossing a line. I’m sorry.”
His eyes darken. “Sophia,” he says. “Never apologize for kissing me.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Now,” he says, looking over my shoulder, “someone just arrived that I think you’d like to meet.”
A couple has just arrived. The man is familiar. Not from seeing him in person, God no, but from pictures and company memos. The woman beside him must be his wife. She’s beautiful in an understated way, wearing a simple white dress that accentuates her hair.
“Oh,” I say again. “I don’t think he’ll know who I am.”
“Probably not,” Isaac says, the picture of honesty. “He’s not the best at remembering faces. Or names, for that matter. You’re fine.”
“He controls my fate, in a way. At least my professional one, at any rate, and that’s everything to me right now. And he doesn’t even know who I am.” I shake my head, my mind racing. “Maybe that’s how your employees think about you.”
Isaac takes a moment to answer. “Maybe so.”
